Wednesday, 2 December 2015

Ignorance

The prisoner awoke in the cell with a jolt. He scrabbled,
both mentally and physically, as he sought an answer. Any answer. He realised
that none were forthcoming. Several moments of careful self-reflection informed
him that he had no knowledge of his identity. He had no recent memories at all.
There were some ragged, distant childhood memories, but nothing of substance.
He rose from the stiff, starched bed, and inspected his surroundings. There was
little to see. His confinement was featureless.

Apart
from the bed stood a desk and chair. On it, a large number of books were
stacked. He staggered to the surface and started to take in their titles.
Beyond Good and Evil by Nietzsche. The Republic by Plato, Ethics for the New
Millennium by the Dalai Lama. He glanced across the books in confusion. He saw
copies of the Bible and the Quran, as well as other religious texts.

He
walked away and sat on the bed in confusion. He was still reeling from the void
in his mind, and the books just raised further questions. He stared in silence.
An hour later, a meal tray slid into the room from a previously hidden slot a
floor level. It was basic and functional food, bland but filling. He reflected
on the position of not knowing the last time he had eaten.

He sat,
masticating and cogitating, staring at the towers of knowledge.

It was
an hour before he opened the first book.

The director watched the events of the cell
play out with interest. This was the start of physical trials, and he hoped
that it would bear fruit. The director was no-one special, just another
government official who had be tasked with addressing the numbers of the
reoffenders entering back into prison populations. He had looked at the
conundrum for months before the revelation struck him. The problem wasn’t with
the punishment. It lay in the perpetrators. They didn’t understand the
ramifications and repercussions. The prisoner was currently being repeatedly
drugged with a chemical that prevented the recall of any short-term memory. It
meant he had no recollection of holding up a liquor store and beating a female worker into submission. The intent was to restructure his
code of ethics and morals until he could appreciate how truly wrong his actions
were. This is where the books came in, tomes collected from throughout history
to allow the subject to redevelop their sense of right and wrong to higher
level. Once they had a better understanding, then the drugs could be withdrawn
and they would be allowed to experience their guilt and remorse properly. It
would take some time, but he knew it would be an education for both of them.

The
prisoner was feeling anxious. The feeling had been growing for a couple of
days, ever since he noticed a change in the taste of the food. The books had
been a welcome distraction, and he had hungrily devoured the contents. The
information had often been conflicting with no clear message, and he was forced
to draw his own conclusions. In time he started to realise that was the point.

Now he
felt something new. Up until recently his memories had been a vacuum, but now
he was starting to distinguish their shape. Elements danced infuriatingly in
his mind. He tried to bury himself in another volume, but his mind would not
allow him to focus. Tears started to stream down his face, and for the life of him
he could not understand why.

The director watched the prisoner with mixed
emotion. The man was guilty of his crimes, there was no question of that, but
the changes he had rendered into the man’s personality had produced a new
individual. It was upsetting to watch him slowly hit by the revelation of his
actions. The man had been sobbing for two hours. He had previously been so
confident, now he found his motivations questionable. He had actually talked to
the tech guys about making the memory removal permanent, but they insisted it
would require constant upkeep to maintain. He had realised that he needed to
allow the man to face his demons, whatever the scars they inflict.

The administrator studied the monitors overseeing the experiment. The
director had not realised in volunteering his project he would become a part of
it, and he was being scrutinised as much as the prisoner. It was a good idea.
Teach the prison populace to feel remorse. But why stop there? Given enough
time and resources you could do this to anybody, hell everybody. It would be easier
to keep a society in order. He watched the administrator start to cry. His involvement
was important. What kind of individual could be tasked with the restructuring
of someone’s morals? These questions were important, and heralded further research.
This would pave the way to a crime-free society. He felt righteous.

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Hi there, my name is Marc Tobit. This here is my attempt at writing. Unfortunately I have the attention span of a goldfish, so creepypasta is best suited to someone of my focus.
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